


The Dancing Dove and Other Mothers

by Lillifred



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Provost's Dog - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Beka is somewhat oblivious with regard to all things queer, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Polyamory, Rosto is a flirt and a feminist and a philosopher, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillifred/pseuds/Lillifred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosto tells Beka how he grew up with a polyamorous queer female travelling theatre group. Rosto and Beka are very much into each other. Rosto is the sexiest man alive. Or at least, he believes so. No, honestly, he really is. Everyone loves everyone else. Rosto's mothers were awesome. All of them. They kicked some ass. Some tragic back story happened. Because I can't write a happy thing that is just happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancing Dove and Other Mothers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not trans, so please tell me if I got anything wrong with trans issues in this story.

„You never told me about your mother. That she was an actress. She must have been beautiful.”

Rosto smirked. “Because _I_ am beautiful, I guess.” Gosh! That was not what Beka intended to say! However, she was interested in Rosto’s family. For some reason she had never imagined Rosto as a person with a family before. Least of all a mother.

“So, what was she like, your mother?”

“Which one?”

“You have _more_ than one mother?” Beka was startled. Was she a honeylove, a woman who loves women?

“I had before they died. Now I have none.”

Beka knew death of a loved one from her own experience and she saw enough of it all around her in the lower city during her daily work, so this was not an unusual thing to hear. It still hurt her heart to hear about it and she knew that it would never stop to hurt. “Both of them? I’m so sorry.”

“All of them. Except those who left for other places earlier.”

Rosto must have been kidding. All of his mothers? How many mothers could a person have? Beka could only think of one. Two, if a father remarried or the first mother was a honeylove. Maybe three if both happened.

“How many mothers did you have?”

“Fifteen, sometimes up to twenty.”

“Fifteen mothers? No one has fifteen mothers!”

“Am I no one?” Rosto looked offended. “Maybe you should have another piece of bread and cheese. So that your gob stops making assumptions about people for a minute while I tell you the story.”

Beka nodded. Yeah, she definitely needed something to chew on now. Fifteen mothers! Well, maybe it was not that unusual for a cove who’d date fifteen gixies at a time, after all.

“Please tell me about them.”

“One of my mothers, the one who gave birth to me, was from a noble scanran family actually. Not very high nobility. The poorest type of nobility that’s still nobility. However, I never knew her birth family. She ran away when she was seventeen to marry a merchant’s son her parents disapproved of. She had two children before I was born. I don’t know what happened to them either. My mother had to run away again when her husband turned out to be jealous for no reason after a few years. He could be aggressive. Of all her children she could only take me with her. And a good amount of his gold and silver money.”

“Like mother, like son.”

“I’d never steal.”

“Or run away?”

“Sometimes running away from a bad situation is the only way not to run away from your responsibilities. Or from your happiness. Never forget that, Beka.”

“You do steal. You’re the Rogue. That’s _king_ of thieves.”

“You’re a dog. And not a loose one. I don’t tell you everything. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Beka shivered. She had no idea what he did the night before they had breakfast. He might as well have blood on his hands.

“Soon she met other mots and gixies without a home. Some of them had children like her. With the money she stole they founded a travelling theatre group. These women, they have become my other mothers.”

“Was your mother a honeylove? Did she have a sweetheart in that group?”

“Oh, she had lots of sweethearts among them! My first mother has always been in love with many people at the same time and she was definitely canoodling with some of them.”

Beka frowned. “Like I said: Like mother, like son.”

“Some of them were couples. Some of them were in love with multiple others in the theatre group. Some of them were honeyloves. Some of them not. They came from all over the world and they spoke so many languages. They were really all sorts of mots. All of them were talented dancers and actresses, but apart from that they were so different from each other. Some of them were introverts. Some of them were really bold. Some loved to pick up a fight and some loved to end fights. None of them had an easy life. Many were prostitutes or thieves before they joined the theatre group. But they all supported each other and they never betrayed one another. I could trust each and every one of them with my live. I’ve learned so many things from my mothers. They taught me how to ride and they taught me archery, they taught me acting and how to play the pipe. They taught me dancing and how to comfort someone who is sad. They tought me how to lie and they taught me to tell the truth.”

Rosto took another piece of cheese and offered Beka some as well before he continued talking.

“Sometimes we weren’t allowed to present our plays because they were so improper. Ordinary people love improper plays. Some theatre groups have plays that are funny or romantic or a little sexual. Well, our plays were exactly like that. But they were also very critical. Mostly critical of the nobility. Rubbed some lords and ladies the wrong way. Also there are just so many people lately who believe that mots shouldn’t act like coves. Whatever that’s supposed to be. They don’t believe a mot’s opinion’s worth a shit, and they certainly don’t believe that mots should run a theatre group all on their own. Such believes are getting more and more common. It’s frightening me.”

Beka rolled her eyes at that. “They’re never going to be successful! Just look at all of us mot dogs. We’re never going to let them win.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Whatever happened, they always helped each other. There was so much love in that group. It is incredible. Or it was incredible, until the haters did win.”

“What happened?”

“A bunch of people burned down our tents. I only survived because I chose that night to sneak out, enjoy myself and flirt with some gixies in the town.”

“Who did that? Who would do such a horrible thing?” Beka had seen many people who would do horrible things like that, and worse. It still made her angry every time.

“The same people who first had the honour of getting killed by me.”

Beka wanted to talk about something more cheerful again. She had to confront so many not-cheerful things during her work already. Also, she really didn’t like the thought of Rosto actually killing someone, no matter the reason.

“Did you have a favourite mother?”

To her surprise, Rosto’s answer was instantaneous. “Yes. Amelia.”

“How was she?”

“Amelia wrote most of our plays. Have you ever seen a play with lines that creep into your heart, that you could recite years after because they are just so good? Lines that use words in a way you’ve never thought about before but that feels just natural and perfect? Plays that make you feel what the characters feel so much that you cry and shiver, that you laugh and want to scream? Amelia wrote plays that are exactly like that. But what made her plays really good was that she was so fierce and sincere. Whenever she noticed something unjust she’d put it in one of her plays. She was very bold about her opinion. Didn’t use any euphemisms. Didn’t make the world look better than it was. And also not worse. She had some great ideas about how she wanted to live. How she wanted to be treated. What she wished for other people. She used her writing to say things that are important. Reminds me of you a little, actually. You have passion about making wrong things right as a dog. She had passion about making things right as a writer.”

“That’s not very unlike you either. I know how much you care about being a good king for your people.”

“Thanks a lot for that compliment. But at the time I really didn’t think I’d ever be as awesome as her.”

“You didn’t think that you’re awesome? Rosto, that almost sounds like modesty. Stop lying to me.”

“Okay, yes I did think that I was very awesome. But that’s beside the point. She was similar to me in another way. There were some feelings we shared and some things I felt most comfortable about talking with her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know about Nestor’s wife? Amber? The way she says that the trickster put her in the wrong body? Although I’d say the biggest prawn the trickster plays in that matter is that they make so many people blind to see us the way we are. The trickster makes people assume things that are not right, they make people think that someone has to be a mot or a cove just because the way their bodies look then they are babies. The trickster fills people with prejudice and makes them believe they’re oh-so-rational. They have fun watching people hate each other. And that’s why I hate them. In that way, Amelia was like Amber. And I’m like them, too.”

“How can you be like Amelia? You look like a cove!”

“Well, yes, I do.”

“But you want to be a mot?”

“No. I love mots. Including you. Even if you’re a little clueless from time to time, master detective Cooper. But I am not one and I don’t want to be one.”

“So, you’re not like Amelia.”

“It’s more like the other way round.”

 _Master detective_ Beka Cooper took a time to process the information.

“But… but… You look like any other cove! How… ?”

“ _I_ look like any other cove?! Have you not seen my corn sily, sun-colered, golden hair? My dark eyes? My scars?”

Damn. Of course he looked nothing like any other cove. He looked like the cove she had the biggest fucking crush on. Oh, and he also looked like the king of the rogue. Which was a bit of a problem. But Beka was not one who couldn’t deal with problems, after all.

“Yes, I have seen your scars. Rest assured that you do look like a cove who has murdered more than the usual number of coves.”

“And mots.”

“I’m so sorry I forgot about it.” Also, she did see his sun-coloured hair which _was_ blond, no matter how often she claimed it was white to tease him. And his eyes. Fuck his eyes. She’d lose herself in these eyes!

“So, how did you actually do it?”

“I’ll answer that question if you let me ask one as well.”

“Agreed.”

“Kora knows some very useful charms.”

“And your question is?”

“May I give you a kiss?”

“Yes.”

Beka didn’t hesitate. She might have been one of the stupidest gixies around. Or one of the luckiest. Yes, definitely one of the luckiest, she thought after Rosto had kissed her.

 

Later Beka realized that Rosto had never told her which of his mothers was called the dancing dove.


End file.
